Pages in shreds — a Sterling's solo
by strippedink
Summary: "If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die." — Elena's world crumbled as Stefan walked away.


"If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die."

* * *

The eldest of the Gilbert clan, Elena Gilbert, always considered herself to be an inspiring writer. Not yet a writer though. She could never compare herself with some of the great names of Literature, including her all time heroes. And today, she woke up to a sickening feeling – it reminded her of the time she had been forced to grieve her parents. No one should go through all the loss she experienced at such an early age. The stomach-churning taste in her mouth has become a constant reminder that nothing nor anyone ever stays and that's the cruel reality of this twisted world. Her hands, lately more unsteady than usual, cling to the sweatshirt she's wearing; her sorrow shifted into white hot fury and she's just learning she can't tame it. The brunette's tearful gaze appears to be vacant, its magical sparkle was lost and she's afraid nothing will return it.

Her most prized possession lies beside her like a long lost token of affection and appreciation. He had given it to her last birthday, she remembers sadly. That memory alone is powerful enough to collect a gut-wrenching sob from her. The first rays of bright sunlight once brought her warmth and the feeling of belonging, even after her parents' departure from this world, but not today. Today she finds herself weaker than ever, unable to move or appreciate the fact that she's alive. Nothing seems to matter anymore. She's been lost and so she gave herself away to darkness. A breath finds its way to freedom while deft fingers seek her favorite pen devoured by her journal. With said object between her fingers, her other hand caresses longingly the overused book. When her hand roams over its hardcover, she pauses briefly as further memories seep through the cracks, rendering her without breath.

Within minutes, her fingers move according to the brain's commands once the tip of her pen was pressed against an un-scribbled page. Despite the other yellowed pages, containing the tale of a young woman falling in love, the words now flow without restraint for she's pouring her heart out as dark ink begins to saturate the first page. By the time she turns the page to narrate sentiments that can't be described with simple words, a single tear slides down her cheek – smudging the spot where the tiny pool of water fell over ink. And once she's done, Elena puts the pen down and takes a long breath as if finally letting go of pent-up emotions before fingers coil around the pages holding evidence of her suffering in order to shred them into tiny little pieces, just like her heart. 

* * *

"Mystic Falls, October 29, 2014

Dear diary,

I wish you could look inside my soul and see how dark it is now. The lack of light has driven me to insanity, I think. I have grown cold to the world surrounding me and the worst part is the lack of empathy. Nothing moves me anymore. I can't stop what's coming.

Oh, diary. You've been the best listener I've ever had but you can't give what I need, what I long for. A hug when sadness corners me or a kiss when I need to forget. It was all a lie in the end. Remember when he said: "We can conquer anything together. We've been through so much already, nothing can stop us. It's all or nothing with us."?

I suppose it's nothing.

You know what, diary? I hate myself for missing him, for missing our world, the home we built together. It's all destroyed – my world is crumbling down. I can't go back home now. What am I supposed to do? Is this fair? No, it's not. But life seldom is. Right?

"I promise nothing can exceed you." But something did. Promises were broken, over and over again. Decisions forgotten.

I've been forgotten.

Bonnie was right. She said in the end everyone will look out for themselves and forget the other. But I was never that selfish, I still can't be that way. Is there anything wrong with me? I've fallen, and my proverbial knees are scrapped and bleeding. I can't stop the pain. Please, help me, diary. Help me.

I've read once in a book: "How can anyone be afraid of love?" "How can they not? When you love someone... truly love them, friend or lover, you lay your heart open to them. You give them a part of yourself that you give to no one else, and you let them inside a part of you that only they can hurt—you literally hand them the razor with a map of where to cut deepest and most painfully on your heart and soul. And when they do strike, it's crippling—like having your heart carved out. It leaves you naked and exposed, wondering what you did to make them want to hurt you so badly when all you did was love them. What is so wrong with you that no one can keep faith with you? That no one can love you? To have it happen once is bad enough... but to have it repeated? Who in their right mind would not be terrified of that?" Perhaps the author of this book has felt this anguish, too.

I'm crying now, it hurts.

Elena Marie Gilbert"


End file.
